


At the End

by RealtaCuardach



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Post Reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-26 23:54:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/655784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RealtaCuardach/pseuds/RealtaCuardach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin's naming to Court Sorcerer was supposed to be a secret. Naturally, almost everyone knew within an hour. The restoring of magic reawakens memories, both good and bad, and Arthur and Merlin have to come to terms with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At the End

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a request for the Heart of Camelot fansite.

Merlin's naming of Court Sorcerer was meant to be a secret. Naturally, the whole castle knew within hours.

In a way, they knew it even before Arthur had come to that conclusion, but the whispers had begun even before Arthur had sequestered himself in the throne room and council, with strict orders that all of the servants leave. They all thanked the heavens that the king remained unaware of the cracks in the ceilings or the slightly ajar windows; they were as good as keyholes to listen at.

Arthur turned to face his council as he stood behind his chair, feeling the breath of air on his arms as his cape swirled obligingly behind him. He and Gwen debated over what he would wear to this meeting, so whether he should enter the conversation as man-to-man with his council members or as their king, handing down a command that not to be challenged. In the end, it had been decided that Arthur would war his cape but not the chainmail, although Gwen's lips had quirked when she voiced the opinion that the cape might be some sort of security blanket.

Arthur had come to the conclusion that his wife had been spending too much time around his best friend/former manservant/future possible Court Sorcerer. If Merlin had been around, Arthur might have diffused some of his anxiety by yelling at the man for having so many bloody titles. But he'd been more or less sequestered with Gaius or amongst the townspeople since the Incident – not the same as the Magic Reveal but still enough to earn its own capital letter – and so Arthur hadn't seen much of him.

"Gentlemen," he began, clearing his throat officially, "I called you here to discuss the certain event that happened last week."

The group of men blinked politely at him for a moment before Geoffrey dryly spoke up. "You mean the magical incident, sire?" Arthur began to wonder why he bothered talking around it, as all of them in the room had been privy to Merlin's revealing of his magic. Of all the times to try and assassinate a king, storming him in the middle of a council meeting surrounding by councilmen, knights, and guards (useless though they were) seemed a poor idea. Arthur regrouped himself and said, more firmly, "Yes, I do. Since you're all aware of the situation, I want to discuss the laws banning magic," he paused, bracing himself for the response he was about to receive, "and their repealing." If he had been expecting a shocked response from the men sitting around the table, he would have been sorely disappointed. Actually, he was more puzzled as he looked carefully at the men's expressions, which ranged from resigned to intrigued to slightly disgruntled. "Your thoughts?" he asked, his eyes lingering on Gante, who was bearing the most perturbed expression of the group.

The men retreated into their minds to consider the question for a few agonizing moments, during which Arthur's fingers most assuredly did not twist in the hem of his cape. When someone finally spoke up, it was Geoffrey again. "I've spent years with the history of the kingdom, your highness, and I've seen the pain that sorcery has brought to Camelot – as well as the struggles it's been put through by nonmagical hands. I've seen how magic is in the very thread of this land, and how it will likely be here long after we're gone. It is a part of this land, and it deserves its freedom." His eyes crinkled with wry amusement, and Arthur's heart lightened at the sight. "Besides, this will give that manservant of yours a chance to fix all of my hard work he keeps destroying in the attempt to hide his magic from me."

Arthur had to bite back a laugh, even with the prickle of the newly scabbed wound of Merlin's secret-keeping. He looked apprehensively at Gante, who was clearing his throat pointedly. "Your highness, your father spent your entire life upholding these laws you are so eager to tear down." He looked around at the others. "We have seen the blood spilled by magic, all of us, and all of Camelot has suffered through Morgana's assaults." It was a struggle to suppress the wince Arthur felt at that statement – the councilman had managed to hit two of Arthur's sorest points with disturbing ease.

"However," Gante continued, "I trust your judgment, your highness, you have never steered us astray. I am uneasy, I admit, but I will stand by you," the old man pushed up from his seat and stood as he addressed his king, "in your decision. As we all will." As the rest of the men stood in solidarity, Arthur's jaw did not drop in unkingly surprise. But it was a near thing.

~.~

Hunith felt her jaw hanging slack and looked down to where the tea had pooled around her broken cup on the dirt floor. She flexed the numbness of her fingers experimentally and stooped down to clear up the tea, starting at the coolness of the liquid. She had remembered the tea being hot. She gathered the broken fragments of the cup in her palm, her mind struggling to recall what had happened. The village outside her hut seemed a bit louder than usual, and she unconsciously began to listen.

"Can ye believe it?"

"Aye, I can. There always seemed something different about him. Nothing dangerous, mind."

"But of all the fool places to go – I thought the lad had more sense than to go-"

"It is true, then?" A new voice piped up, "It's Hunith's boy?"

Hunith remembered, and the fragments fell back to the floor with another crash. The mail had been a little late that day, and she had been frustrated that news from Merlin would be coming later and worry that the young man who delivered the mail might be having troubles with his chronically near-lame horse. But then she had heard the frenetic galloping of an approaching horse and begun to come outside when she heard the eager, blurred gossip.

"Magic…Camelot…the king…servant…named Merlin."

Hunith's mouth had begun to sag open and her grip tightened on the handle of her cup.

"Magic in Camelot?" A woman responded, "Doesn't he know that he could be killed?"

"What if he's been already?" Another squawked.

That was when the cup had dropped.

Frightened tears brimmed in Hunith's eyes as she glanced rapidly around for her cloak and traveling shoes. Her mind settled on every moment that she had seen her son and Arthur together, she had seen the friendship and the brotherhood between them. She couldn't bring herself to believe that Arthur would forsake those bonds she had seen so clearly.

But still…she had seen the destruction that anger and bitterness and fractured trust could wreak upon relationships. The sheer drama that existed in a small village at times could be quite shocking, but she had grown accustomed to it. So as much as she hoped and prayed that Arthur would accept her son for the sake of their friendship, if not for the times that Merlin had selflessly saved the king's life, her motherly protectiveness would not allow her to wait helplessly to hear what would happen.

She was leaving for Camelot. And she was leaving now.

When one of her closest friends finally had the presence of mind to check in on Hunith, she found nothing but an empty cloak rack, loose ropes where the village's oldest nag had been tied, and a pot of cooling tea on the tabletop.

~.~

Gwen sat in the chambers she shared with Arthur, toying uneasily with the hem of her sleeve. She had wanted to join Arthur in the council meeting, but the two of them had decided that having the queen-who-was-once-a-servant in on the meeting where they were about to make another major overhaul to the kingdom's tradition might not be the best idea, regardless of how much respect they had for her.

That was the official, spoken reason for why she remained in their chambers. The unofficial reason, that both had seen in the other's eyes, was that Merlin would come back and give Gwen the chance to speak with him. Ever since the Incident, they had seen very little of him, and Gwen worried. Arthur worried too, but he would be hard pressed to admit it

In a political mindset, Merlin's separating himself for the moment from Arthur was a sound idea – it took away the possibility of rumors that he was unfairly influencing Arthur's decisions, either through simple words or through sorcery. _I'm not a sorcerer, I'm a warlock_.

Gwen got up from her chair and walked over to the window and stared outside into the courtyard. Things were progressing outside as they usually did, but Gwen could tell that people were stopping more often to talk with one another, making more frenzied gestures with their hands as they spoke. As much as Arthur might hope to keep the events of what had happened the week before under wraps, Gwen knew better than to hope for such things. As a former servant, she knew how quickly and efficiently rumors could travel, and suspected that even the lower town knew of what had happened by now.

She looked down at the stairs and swallowed hard, remembering how she had once sprinted down them, wailing as she looked down at her father's corpse as the guards took him away. The tears were as bitter in her eyes as they had been back then, and she wiped them away impatiently as she tried to clear her mind. _My father died because of sorcery._

Although that wasn't really true and Gwen knew it. It was Uther's fear of sorcery that had led to her father's death, as well as his foolhardiness in getting involved with a sorcery. That impulse to make decisions without considering the consequences seemed to have been genetic between father and son.

The thought of Elyan didn't do anything to abate her tears and she tried to swing her mind around to something else. Merlin. Her friend Merlin. Her friend Merlin who protected her husband and herself with his very life.

Her friend Merlin who protected her husband and herself with his very life using magic.

The very word magic held a frisson of fear and confusion as she thought it, as that reaction had been taught religiously to all children within Camelot's walls, regardless of their rank, gender, or lot in life. It was something they were going to have to fight tooth and nail.

Because things had to change.

Gwen had seen the pain that sorcery had caused, had felt the sharp pang of seeing her once close friend turn bitter and vindictive and wreak pain upon her former home. It was that Morgana who had chased her during her exile from Camelot and turned her into a deer, that Morgana who had nearly killed her with the sword, that Morgana who had killed her brother in absentia, that Morgana who had turned her free will into nothing more than a pair of marionette strings.

But that wasn't her magic. That was her hate, and her bitterness, and her feeling of betrayal. It was her anger at having to stifle who she really was. Gwen put down her crown and sighed. Merlin would never do that…but it wasn't fair to ask him to stifle who he was, anymore than he already had. He was proof, beyond all others, that magic wasn't evil. It couldn't be evil if Merlin had it. Merlin had been forced to make terrible, bloody decisions, but she could see the pain in his eyes for those decisions and she could feel the core of love that resided in him even at the darkest moments.

"Merlin has magic," she whispered to herself, and felt the normal pang that the word 'magic' brought. But it was less intense than she was used to. Because magic was the poultice that saved her father's life. Magic was the old man who swooped in to save her life. Magic was that which changed her back into a human.

Magic was Merlin.

And she would do anything for Merlin. That was what friends did.

~.~

Merlin had stayed in Gaius' chambers pretty constantly after the Incident, partly to help Gaius, partly to keep from appearing to unfairly influence Arthur, but mostly because he was afraid.

He wasn't sure what world would greet him once he left the familiar security of Gaius' chambers, the chambers that had seen his practicing magic and had kept his secret. The other walls of the castle and even of the village had not seen his magic in any other way other than clandestine or hidden in whispers or cupped palms. And the people had never seen it at all, at least not knowledgeably, in any way that didn't bring blood and pain and suffering. They did not know of the magic that had protected Arthur, that had slain the beasts that would attack him, that conquered the illnesses that would have slain them all. All they knew was fear and executions and death. What would the people say when they saw him wandering about the castle or in the village?

Would they thank him? Would they hate him? Would they come after him with harder, heavier things than the vegetables they had gleefully pelted him with when he was young, naïve, and in the stocks?

Worse…would they fear him?

He didn't know if he could take their fear. He could barely swallow or breathe when he thought of the mingled confusion, shock, and betrayal in Arthur's face once the adrenaline of the near attack had faded away. And even that was preferable to the anger and betrayal in Arthur's face at the beginning of the Incident.

He snuck out of the chambers and made his way towards the kitchen, figuring that small steps were necessary if he were to actually venture beyond his rooms on a regular basis. It certainly helped that he was more than a little hungry. That didn't prevent him from flinching on occasion when he heard footsteps or the murmur of voices in the corridors.

It was almost laughable. He had faced down Nimueh and Edwin and Agravaine, and any number of bloodthirsty entities out to destroy Camelot or Arthur, but he balked at the thought of walking among the normal people of Camelot. It wasn't so much the fear of what they could do to him, but the fear of how they would react to him.

He was the same as always, if not more so. But he didn't know if others would see it.

The normal bustle of the kitchen was a balm to his raw nerves, and he had to bite back a smile at the familiar scolding of the cook. He attempted to slip quietly into the kitchen without drawing attention to himself, but promptly tripped over a pile of dirty pots on the floor. He winced at the cacophonous clatter and looked up at the others, who had all frozen to look at him. Some things never changed.

"You better not be messing around in my kitchen, boy!" The cook barked, and Merlin could have kissed her. At least one person wouldn't treat him differently.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly, and he bent over to pick up the scattered dishes, missing the slight gasps of delight behind him as he did so. One of the kitchen maids came over to where he was kneeling, scooping up two cups and a saucer before smiling at him. She blushed at the tentative smile he gave her and managed to put the dishes on the counter before she started breathing heavily. The smooth brushing of shoe leather against the stone floor signaled the approach of the other girls, who bent down near him to help clear away the dishes. Two of the older servants stood near the stove with bitter expressions as though they'd been forced to test the cook's famous lemonade before the sugar had been added.

"Are you all right?" One of his helpers asked shyly as she placed the three saucers on the counter.

"Yes," Merlin said, rubbing the back of his neck, "Sorry about that."

"Oh, it's no trouble," she said, moving a little closer as his courage grew, "is it true what they say?"

"That?"

Another girl rolled her eyes. "That you're magic!"

Two of the kitchen maids gasped at her forwardness, and the remainder leaned forward with interest. Merlin only managed a nod.

"'Tisn't natural," one of the sour-faced women by the oven hissed, only to get glares from the other kitchen maids. The woman blanched mildly at the glares before sweeping out of the kitchen with indignation.

"You mustn't judge her too harshly," one of the quieter maids ventured to Merlin, "she lost her only son in that magical plague that was in the water. She rather hates the word magic, now."

"She's not the only one," Merlin muttered mostly under his breath, "and I can't blame her for fearing magic when all she has seen is its bad side. But it can do so much good."

"Really?"

Merlin cast a glance over at the cook who was red-faced but didn't look like she was reaching for a pot or pan to throw which was always a good sign. He held out his hand and, as his eyes glowed gold, he brandished his fingers towards the crockery, more out of a desire to show off rather than necessity. The dishes glowed slightly before reposing on the counter, sparkling clean.

The girls oohed appreciatively and, over their heads, Merlin could see the cook giving him a grudgingly admiring nod. The grin that pulled on his lips was genuine and some of the girls flushed brightly in response.

One of the bolder girls sidled closer and nearly leered up at him. "What else can you do with your magic?" she asked suggestively, her eyes skimming down his chest appreciatively.

Merlin blushed so hard that even his ears turned red.

~.~

At the moment, Hunith wished that she had more of a selfish disposition. She had grabbed the horse she had to get to Camelot because it was the slowest, oldest horse they had, and the one least likely to be used should anyone be plowing or needing to rush a sick child to the nearest village with a physician. It was a noble action, to be sure, but also meant that she had to stop halfway to Camelot because the horse sorely needed a rest. To be fair, she needed the rest as well, and her stomach had grumbled before she had gotten very far from Ealdor, protesting the fact that she had not even swallowed a cup of tea before embarking on her journey. So she found herself sitting in a tavern run by an amiable, plump woman, drinking tea cautiously out of a beer tankard and poking feebly at a fine loaf of bread that her stomach, as hungry as she was, was not allowing her to eat because of her nerves.

"You all right, ma'am?" The barmaid asked, swiping the relatively clean although somewhat sticky counter with a cloth.

"Fine," Hunith nodded with an attempt at a smile. It didn't feel particularly genuine, but was apparently enough for the barmaid to send her a cheery grin in return before stooping back to her work.

Everything will be all right, Hunith assured herself, taking a fortifying gulp of tea and praying that her stomach would not reject it, Merlin will be all right. He won't d-

Her mind froze at the thought and she took another gulp of tea to distract herself.

Another form of distraction came in the form of two burly men who came to sit at the bar, dropping their arms on the bar with such force that it shook, causing Hunith to nearly drop her tea. "Mary!" The taller of the two bellowed, thumping the bar twice more for good measure, "Come over and give us some ale, there's a good lass!"

"Bit early in the day for ale, isn't it?" Mary asked wryly, although she bent obligingly by the bar to fetch the ale, "Even for you?"

"It's worth celebrating, innit, though?" The taller boomed, "That nonsense on killin' magic folk is about to be at an end! Heard it straight from my son's girl who works in the castle."

"They're going to allow magic again?" Mary probed, pouring the ale into two tankards.

"Aye," the man grinned, "and it's about bleeding time!"

The shorter man snorted as he picked up his tankard. "Dun believe it."

"What?"

"Dun believe that the king's gonna let magic back in," he replied, glaring at the ale as though it had done him an injustice, "never trust a Pendragon."

"What you think he's doing then?" The taller man argued.

The shorter took a swig of ale. "Tricking 'em," he said, wiping the ale from his mouth with his forearm, "what better way to get rid o' all the magic doers than to make them come to Camelot for some demonstration? Cut 'em down all at once."

Hunith's face became deathly pale and the tankard of tea shook in her hands.

The taller glared at him. "That's nonsense and you know it, you idiot. He'd even kill the man who saved his life?"

"Wouldn't be the first time a Pendragon did something like that."

The two began bickering in a fashion that made Hunith believe it was something of a normal occurrence between the two of them. She might have smiled at the similarity between her son and Arthur if she'd felt like smiling…or if the comparison would have made her happy rather than making the fear pool at her stomach.

A plate of cheese slid in front of her and she looked up to see Mary smiling kindly down at her. "Eat, it'll help to have something in your stomach." Hunith smiled weakly and picked up a piece of cheese as Mary drew a stool up to her side of the bar and sat down. "Don't you pay any mind to what they're saying," Mary said, "it'll make you sick. To think of such a thing." She shook her head. "Not that the king would do such a thing."

"What makes you so sure?" Hunith asked curiously.

Mary laughed, a big, amused sound. "Because I've seen the two of them. In this very bar. If the king hadn't told me who he was, I'd have never believed it. The two of them looked like friends – I'd have even called them brothers if they hadn't looked so different. The king would no sooner kill that man than he would rip out his own heart; because he's wise enough to see how lucky he is to have him." She shook her head ruefully. "Especially since the lad saved his life. And probably more than once if those levitating plates I saw here that day are any indication."

"Floating plates?" Hunith squawked, laughing, "he hadn't done that in years-" Then she clapped her hand on her mouth in shock at what she'd revealed.

Mary simply winked at her, woman-to-woman, and got up to serve the next customer. "It'll be just fine."

~.~

Gwen felt a strange smile twist her face as she looked at the vase of flowers on the nightstand – one of the few pieces of pottery that had survived the Incident. The flowers seemed to take forever to wilt, but it wasn't until a week had passed that Gwen had noticed that the beads of dew had never left the edges of the petals. As she tentatively and tenderly brushed the blooms, they felt as fresh and new as though they were still growing from the ground.

It was then that she remembered Merlin's eyes glowing a brisk gold before he left the room, after Arthur had stormed out. She had walked over to Merlin and hugged him tightly, saying more with the gesture than she could with words. I don't understand, Merlin, but it doesn't matter. You're my friend no matter what.

Gwen knew that the two men would make up eventually, even though Arthur was being a prat. Merlin, however, wore such a look of restrained pain and confusion that it broke her heart. As she held him tight, she wondered if _he_ knew that they would make up.

For that reason, even though she figured that as Arthur's wife she was supposed to side with him automatically, she left the broken crockery near the fireplace in their room. She would glance over there repeatedly while she was in the room with Arthur, and wait for him to look over. There was no joy when she saw the grieved and guilty look on his face, but she knew it was for the best. The sooner that he accepted his friend for who he was, the sooner he wouldn't have to stare at the broken remnants of their friendship in the shards of crockery.

"Have you heard?"

Gwen's ears pricked up at the familiar furtive sound of servant gossip and edged closer to the chamber door. She edged closer, lifting up her skirts to keep the silk from whispering against the floor and giving her away.

"Heard what?"

"The king – he's bringing back magic!"

There was a long silence. "Mary, have you been at the cider again?"

A thud, followed by a grunt of pain. "No! I heard it with my own ears. Sophie heard it too!"

"About time," the other servant muttered under their breath, "do you think it has anything to do with Merlin?"

"Bet it has _everything_ to do with Merlin," the other said, "that's why the king walked out and said something about trying to find him."

Gwen smiled and stood up, pushing open the door with more exuberance than was wise, given that the two servants were just outside the door.

"Your highness!" Mary said, curtseying and the other servant bowed.

"Are you two busy?" Gwen asked.

"No, my queen," the other servant said.

"Good," Gwen smiled, "Would you mind moving these broken dishes out of my chambers, please?"

Arthur allowed himself one moment of pacing before he turned and looked towards his men. The throne was a few feet behind him but he ignored it as he stepped closer to the knights, who were standing at attention, varying levels of dawning comprehension and confusion on their faces.

"My brothers," Arthur began, "I have brought you here today to discuss something vitally important to the future of Camelot." He took a deep breath. "It will mean a change. A very significant change to the way Camelot has been for the past few years, but I believe that it will be a change, ultimately, for the better."

The knights shifted a little in their confusion, although the remainder of the original Knights of the Round Table stood still and solemn in the face of the change. Arthur had to bite back a smile at their continuing loyalty before continuing. "Still, I rely on your thoughts as I rely on your support in battle. Do not hesitate to share your words about what I am about to tell you."

Arthur took a deep breath, and the knights leaned slightly forward. "I am taking the ban off of magic."

There was a moment of brief silence before a loud cacophony of rumbling voices answered him. Arthur held up a hand for silence. "I cannot hear you if you're all talking. Is there any to object to this decision?"

One of the knights, his face distorted and fire-scarred from the attack of Morgana and Agravaine on the citadel, stepped forward. "I…do not understand." He said, trying to keep his voice calm, although a faint tremor could be heard in the underlying tone. "We…the people of Camelot…have paid the price of magic over and over again. And now to bring it here," he shook his head, "would that not bring a greater price down on us?"

An older knight stepped forward as well, but turned to his fire-scarred brother and held up an arm. A long scar ran from his elbow to his wrist, a faint shine to the rise of flesh that told of a wound long healed. "Do you see this?" he asked, "Magic did this."

Arthur fought back a groan as the first knight nodded before saying, "People have suffered many injuries because of magic, I know."

"No," the older knight said, "that's not what I meant. This," he pointed at the injury, "should have killed me. It was at my second battle," he began, his eyes glazing over slightly in the memories of stronger sinew and strident youth, "and I had managed to take down two of our foes. But the third got the better of me," he grimaced, "and cut my arm, nearly down to the bone."

The older knight began to trace the scar with a kind of reverence. "By all rights I should be dead. I could feel the blood pooling beneath me even as the world seemed to fade away. But then, he appeared." He began to blink a bit more vigorously than usual, and some knights looked away. "A man that wore the clothing of the druids, who I had seen helping citizens of the lower city with cuts and burns, came over to me and knelt down. He ran his hand over my arm, not caring for the blood, and where there had been agony-" his voice got faint, awed, "there was strength and the lightness of no pain."

He shook his head. "I passed out before I could thank him. And then the Purge came…" He took a deep breath, "I never saw him again, never had the chance to repay him for what he'd done for me."

The older knight turned to the fire-scarred knight and smiled slightly. "We cannot judge all magic users by what Morgana has done…we must let them have the chance to prove themselves. To be thanked."

There was an odd sort of silence. Then Leon stepped up. "Sire?" he asked.

"Yes?"

"I agree with Donue," he nodded to the older knight, "I too owe the druids my life. I would not be here if not for their healing. I cannot condone an entire people for the spiteful actions of a few. Especially when it would condemn good people for something beyond their power."

Arthur nodded regally and thought Leon might have seen the grateful glint in his eye. He was about to speak when Percival cleared his throat. "Why now, your highness?" He boomed quietly, "What brought this decision on?"

Arthur steeled himself to speak, not sure how his brother knights would take the deception he was about to reveal. Even now that he had accepted it, and the beginnings of guilt had started to gnaw at the edges of his mind for being ungrateful to someone who had saved his life many times over, the lying had rankled. Even if it was the only way Merlin had thought he could survive.

That was another sore point that had to be addressed; but it was easiest to take it one step at a time.

"I know," Gwaine spoke without preamble, "it's because of Merlin, isn't it?" The remaining knights turned to look at him in confusion. "Well, Merlin has magic."

There was a shocked silence as the knights and king turned to face Gwaine, their mouths hanging open at varying angles of surprise. He looked at all of them, a familiar smirk tilting the corners of his mouth. "What, wasn't it obvious?"

~.~

"That was _you_?" Gwaine said, sounding more impressed than indignant, "you were the old man who trounced us?"

Merlin tried to look sheepish but only managed a smirk that spoke of how long he and Arthur had known each other. What remained of the original knights of the Round Table sat with Merlin around the (rectangular) table in Gaius' chambers, with Arthur looming quietly but noticeably in the background. He and Merlin still hadn't had much of time to chat in between the Incident and the current moment, but his stance of a bodyguard seemed to speak that he'd discovered where his trust lay. Although Merlin didn't think it was totally necessary to have a bodyguard protecting him against his friends, given that Percival and Leon had a blend of surprise and awe on their faces and Gwaine was still bellowing with laughter.

"Yeah, that was me."

"You used us for a stepping stool, mate!"

"Hey," Merlin replied, "You try climbing onto a horse when you're my age….I mean that age…I mean the age when I was…oh, skip it!"

Gwaine's laughter increased in heartiness, and the other two grinned to themselves as Arthur took a more relaxed stance in the doorway. Leon spoke up. "We are sorry about that, Merlin."

"About what?" Merlin puzzled. "Oh, trying to arrest me? That's fine, I got out of it easily enough anyway." The knights groaned, slight embarrassment smearing their cheeks red. "Besides, you were polite about it. Up until you started brandishing your swords about."

"Well, you with a beard didn't have the best reputation around here, you know?" Gwaine said, his smile receding a bit and becoming more serious. Merlin winced and looked over at the door where Arthur had grimaced at the thought of why Dragoon hadn't the best reputation. Although it had been explained that Morgana had been the cause of Uther's death, the hand Merlin had had in it caused a painful pang in both Arthur and Merlin.

"Yeah, I know."

"Why," Leon began, but then his voice caught in his throat. He cleared it laboriously and then spoke again, "Why did you never tell us?"

Merlin wished that he could stop hearing the tone of hesitant hurt he'd kept hearing in the voices of his friends as his secret had been revealed. He was glad that no one seemed keen on seeing his head separated from his neck, but the disappointment and hurt killed him. "It wasn't that I didn't trust you…there just wasn't enough…" he waved his hands ineffectively, "time."

"So," Percival spoke into the silence that had settled after Merlin's words, "What are we going to do now?"

"I don't suppose," Merlin said hopefully but resignedly, "that we could pretend that none of this ever happened and keep on going like we had before."

"Ruddy well think not," Gwaine said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, "not after the revealing of your magic to the council, and the gossip, and Arthur telling the knights, and setting up the-"

"Gwaine!" Arthur cut in smoothly, his tone that of the diplomat while his gait had the rhythm of a commander striding into battle, "I have something I need you to do." He looked at the others. "All of you."

The knights stood as one, although they all looked puzzled and Gwaine opened his mouth to speak. Arthur waved them silent and turned halfway towards the door. "Time is of the essence, you have to go now." He held open the door pointedly, "Go to the stables, I'll join you presently."

The knights filed out, although all of them seemed loathe to have to abandon their conversation with Merlin, and Arthur turned to join them. Merlin stood up. "What's that all about, Arthur?"

"I can't say," Arthur said briskly.

"You're not going to tell me?" Merlin asked.

"You're hardly one to talk when it comes to keeping secrets, Merlin."

Arthur knew he'd made a poor choice of words when Merlin's face hardened and his eyes glinted blue ice. "I suppose not, sire." And without another word, he stood up and walked into his chambers, closing the door firmly behind him.

His friend grimaced and cursed vehemently under his breath as he stood in the doorway. He nearly took a step forward to try and mend what those words had done, but there was no time. Not if everything was going to fall into place in time. After wasting a few more minutes staring at the resolutely closed door that separated him from his closest friend, he shook his head firmly and turned to go. _It'll be worth it,_ he assured himself weakly, _Merlin will understand._

~.~

Wrapping her cloak tightly around her, Hunith stepped out from the warm friendliness of the tavern and into the steadily darkening countryside of Camelot. Even though it was late summer, the nights could be breezy and cold, and the chaotic winds seemed to mirror the tumultuous nature of her thoughts. Although she felt she knew what the king was like, Mary's opinions only strengthening her beliefs, she still wouldn't feel safe until she felt her son in her arms. Once she felt his mercifully whole and breathing body, she could finally set her mind at rest.

She hooked a foot in the stirrup of her horse and pulled herself on top. Despite the growing darkness and increasing winds, she would not let herself stop in her journey to Camelot.

Perhaps it was her absorption in her worried thoughts that distracted her from the shadows following her. Drunkeness made their steps heavy and their approach loud, but Hunith's focus on her destination dominated all other thoughts. A flash of cloth appeared at the edge of her periphery and as she turned to look at what was there, her horse reared back in fright, nearly toppling her to the ground.

Weaving her hands tightly through the horse's mane, Hunith looked frantically around, trying to figure out what was happening. Four men had completely surrounded her horse, and the poor steed was stomping its feet nervously, its eyes scanning for a possible escape.

"So," the tallest of the men slurred, and Hunith's heart sank as the smell of ale and overindulgence wafted over to her. She recognized the men now, they had been sitting at a table in the back of the tavern, getting so drunk that they eventually had to be tossed out. One had spat very closely in her direction, but she had assumed he was too drunk to see that he was still inside. But it seemed that was only wishful thinking. "Yer the one who's responsible for this –hic- monstrosity." He rubbed his arm across his mouth and stumbled to one side. "Yer the mother of that traitor who's gonna bring all the magic back. How's it feel, being responsible for such a freak?"

Fear, anger, and frustration boiled in Hunith's stomach so intensely that she thought she might choke on it. Instead her fingers fought hard for purchase in the horse's mane as she tried to jerk him away from the drunkards' clutching hands. However, one man got close to grab hold of her skirts and haul her to the ground.

Hunith hit the ground hard and groaned in pain, even as she struggled to get back to her feet. The man who pulled her down pushed her back effortlessly and laughed. "Pathetic," he sneered, "you unleash another spawn of evil onto the planet, and you can't even fight back." He kicked her in the side and she gasped, clutching her ribs.

The first man shoved her attacker out of the way and glared down at Hunith, who was struggling up on her elbows and looking straight into his eyes. Inwardly, she was bemoaning that her speed in leaving Ealdor kept her from bringing the dagger she had been given by Balinor all those years ago, but her outward appearance was calm and resolute. "Devil-woman," the man slurred, "I lost my entire family to magic – my wife, my little girls. And your bastard of a son is bringing it back. We were fine without it, I had a family without it." He raised up his fists, and a blade glinted in the moonlight. "And if I can't have a family, neither can he!"

The dagger swung down and Hunith closed her eyes.

"No!" A new male voice boomed with power and the clearing filled with light. All of the four drunkards flew backwards, and landed on their backs surrounding Hunith and the horse. Hunith lifted her neck weakly to see what had happened just as a figure in flowing robes came out into the moonlight. The man was tall and bald, and carried a long staff that did not seem to be for walking. "No one," he continued, in a voice that commanded as much as power as his yell, "will harm the mother of Emrys."

With that, he sent his hands flying in a movement of brisk power, and all four men sagged totally into the dirt. Trembling from the rush of adrenaline and fear that had pulsed through her during the attack, Hunith saw with some relief that their chests still rose and fell. The stranger had not killed them.

"Mother of Emrys," the voice of the stranger said almost reverently, and Hunith turned to see a callosed hand reaching down towards her, "don't be afraid. You're safe now."

Hunith allowed the man to pull her to her feet and forced herself not to look at the men behind her. "Thank you," she said, "who are you?"

"I," the man said, checking Hunith briefly over for damage, "am Alator of the Catha. I am here to show my support for Emrys. I was on my way to Camelot when I sensed his mother was in danger." He smiled in a solemn but warm way. "It is an honor to serve you." He bowed.

Hunith forced herself to keep from blushing and curtsied lightly in return. "The honor is mine. I cannot thank you enough."

Alator placed a hand beneath her elbow and steadied her. "My lady," he said, "it would bring me great pleasure to escort you to Camelot to see Emrys. I could never forgive myself if harm was to befall you, and anyway I can serve Emrys is an honor."

"Thank you." Hunith turned back to the horse. "Is he well enough to travel?"

Alator ran a hand carefully up and down the horse's neck, his eyes glowing gold. "He should be able to make the journey to Camelot's walls," he assured her, "but I would advise that we continue. The sooner we get to Camelot, the better it will be."

"Why?"

Boosting Hunith up into the saddle, Alator smiled at her. "You will soon see."

~.~

"Merlin," Arthur began and then closed his mouth. The words were not coming easily, and the fact that his best friend was giving him a stony but hurt look and his wife was standing in the doorway after she'd managed to find where Merlin had been hiding were not helping matters. "We need to talk."

"I assumed as much," Merlin's face was stony but his tone was weary. "What all do you want to know? I think I've told you pretty much everything."

Given the information Gaius had given him after the Incident, Arthur was pretty sure Merlin had left out a lot of the suffering he had undergone and at least a few of the good things he had done, but at this point, he wasn't going to press it. "I know," Arthur conceded, "I mean," he put one hand in his hair and gripped it tightly in frustration, "I need to talk. I'm sorry."

Merlin looked shocked, but Gwen looked pleased and smile broadly at the two of them. "You said you're sorry?" Merlin choked out, "What have you done with the prat?"

"Merlin!" Arthur barked and the familiar sound of the call made all three relax. "It's me and you know it, idiot. I shouldn't have yelled, or thrown all those plates at you. It's just…I didn't understand why you couldn't just tell me. I wouldn't have had you _killed_. Although," he groaned, "my yelling kind of made it obvious why you thought I wouldn't take it well."

"Arthur," Merlin replied, "I'm sorry too. I'm not sorry for using my magic to keep Camelot safe, but I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I thought about it, all the time…but the timing never seemed _right_."

"Well," Arthur said, trying to ignore the tightness in his throat, "you don't have to hide anymore."

The two regarded each other in silence for a few moments. And then both stepped forward at the time, extending their arms. As they clasped each other's arms, genuine smiles crossed their faces and everything seemed at peace. Both knew the conversations about Merlin's magic was going to keep on going, but for now, they had said all that needed to be said.

"Arthur," Leon said, appearing behind Gwen in the doorway, "she's not there!"

Arthur let go and spun to face Leon. "She's what?"

Merlin looked at Leon. "Who's what?"

"Oh no," Gwen said, placing her hands on her mouth, "Is there something wrong in Ealdor?"

Merlin turned to her. "What?"

Gwaine came behind Leon. "I don't where Hunith could be, I hope Merlin doesn't –" he saw Merlin standing stiffly in the room, "oh…"

Merlin turned to face Arthur, who looked torn between worry, frustration, and confusion. "Arthur…what's going on?"

Arthur started for the door. "I sent them to get your mother."

"Why would you-?" Merlin began, only to watch Arthur and the rest run downstairs, "Hey!"

Despite his long strides, Gwen managed to keep up with Merlin as he ran down the corridor and down the stairs, her long dress swishing behind her. "What's going on Gwen?" he choked out as they ran.

"Arthur sent them," Gwen panted, "to get your mother for…" She suddenly stopped talking, hoping that Merlin would think she was merely out of breath.

"Why, Gwen?" Merlin grunted, ducking as the two nearly crashed into one of the kitchen maids who was carrying a large platter of bread and cheeses.

"She's all right!" Gwen assured him, "It's for something good, I promise. I'm just surprised," she said as they ran towards the front doors of the castle, "that she wasn't there."

"Why wouldn't she be?" Merlin asked as they burst into the bright sunlight.

"Because she's already here," answered a new voice that made Merlin stop in his tracks. He looked around, blinking the world into focus, and saw his mother smiling at him. "Hello, Merlin."

"Passed her on the way there," Gwaine grinned, walking up behind Merlin and thumping him thoroughly on the back. "Don't know what Princess was so worried about, she already had an escort to get her here."

Merlin walked forward and enfolded his mother in a big hug, his heart thudding with emotion even as he felt the tremors of her happy laughter and the trickle of tears down his shoulder. "Mother," he stepped back, still not letting go, "is everything all right? Why are you here?"

"For you," Hunith smiled, reaching up one hand to brush his cheek, "I heard what happened, and, well…" she sniffed a little, her eyes bright, "I wanted to see if you were all right."

"I'm fine," he assured her, rubbing her shoulder in a comforting way, only for his hand to still as she winced. "Mother," he began, his eyes become cold ice, "did someone hurt you?"

Hunith gently removed his hand and placed it on her arm. "I fell from my horse…some men were there." Merlin's hands pulled back from her to clench into fists and she put her hand on his shoulder. "It's all right, Merlin, Alator stopped them. I'm fine."

"Alator?" For the first time, Merlin turned and saw the man who had been standing besides Hunith.

The sorcerer got to his knees, clutching his staff, and bowed his head. "It is always an honor to serve you, Emrys."

"Oh, get up," Merlin smiled, "thank you. Thank you for keeping her safe." His eyebrows met as he realized something. "But what are you doing here? I thought you were abroad."

"I couldn't miss this day," Alator answered simply, "I had to witness it for myself. As," he stood up, sweeping a hand behind him to gesture to the crowds behind him, "did they."

Merlin looked at where he was gesturing and his mouth fell open. Dozens of people wearing Druid cloaks stood a distance behind where Alator and Hunith were standing, Iseldir at the front. As Merlin saw them, they all sank into kneeling positions. "Emrys."Merlin glanced back at his friends, all of whom looked pleased but shocked. He shrugged. "Yeah, I never get used to it either." He walked forward. "Hello, Iseldir."

"Emrys," Iseldir spoke as he rose to his feet, "long have we awaited this day. At times, we wondered if it would ever come to pass in our lifetimes. But it has."

"What has?"

"The return of magic," Iseldir said, almost blissfully, "the naming of you as Court Sorcerer."

"What?" Merlin turned around and looked at Arthur, who looked sheepish and a little disappointed, like a child who'd had a great surprise spoiled for him. "You're naming me what?"

"You didn't know, mate?" Gwaine asked, "I thought everyone knew that."

"Everyone but Merlin it seems," Leon returned with a bark of laughter.

"Well, isn't that typical," Arthur groaned, "so much for keeping it a secret. Might as well get on with it then."

"Get on with…"

"Your ceremony, you dunce. Really, I can't believe you were actually smart enough to prevent all you say you did. It must have been dumb luck."

Merlin snorted. "Prat." Then he blanched. "Wait, ceremony?"

Hunith smiled warmly at Gaius, who had been summoned to the courtyard and he grinned back. "He still hates public speaking, doesn't he?"

"More than my potions."

Hunith had to hide the giggles behind her hand. "Oh dear."

"Come on, Merlin," Arthur barked, "we've got to get you ready. The townspeople will be here within the hour. We have to get you dressed." He started shepherding Merlin towards the castle, Gwen hovering nearby and the knights flanking the sorcerer so he couldn't escape.

"Dressed?" Merlin groaned as he was forced up the stairs, "What's wrong with what I've got on?"

"Besides looking like a scruffy wanderer?" Arthur asked conversationally, "nothing much worse than usual. I'd rather not have my Court Sorcerer look destitute, what would that say about Camelot?"

"Fine," Merlin huffed as he was pushed through the doors, "but there not be any bloody hat."

Gaius and Hunith watched with amusement as the magical travelers watched with bemusement. "It's nice to know," Hunith said, placing a hand on Gaius' shoulder, "that some things never change."

~.~

In a manner typical of Camelot, all the townspeople showed up before the announcement was even formally made, and all stood beneath cheering. If it had been any other man than Merlin, there might have been more fear, but it was Merlin. There was trepidation, but mostly trust and hope, and the vision of a future with no executions based on the circumstances of one's birth.

Geoffrey recorded the event with all the flourish he could muster. He wrote of the king and queen standing as one, gesturing the sorcerer forward to make his speech. He wrote of the pride of the sorcerer's mother as she beamed from her spot to the side. He wrote of the cheers led by the remainder of the Knights of the Round Table when the sorcerer had finished speaking. He wrote of the golden sun and bright blue sky that seemed to send its blessing on the proceedings of the day.

And if he chose not to write about the sorcerer tripping on the robes the king had forced him to wear that was his business. If he also chose not to write about how the sorcerer turned the king's hair a bright turquoise in retaliation for laughing at him, it was because he'd run out of ink. And he also didn't mention the bellow of the king once the festivities were over, as he chased after his sorcerer, demanding his hair to be changed back. It was never written. It never had to be.

Not when it was kept alive in the jokes the friends remembered around the fire for years to come.


End file.
